


Plays Out Like A Drum

by skoosiepants



Series: Beach Dog [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: F/F, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-06
Updated: 2008-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Beth looks sleek in designer jeans and a black scoop-neck sweater. Sam’s heartbeat speeds up, she can feel the throb all the way down to her fingertips, and her throat’s so dry it clicks when she tries to swallow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plays Out Like A Drum

**Author's Note:**

> So for the three of you who will actually read this: I love these kids. So so much. This story won’t make much sense if you haven’t read the Brendon/Jon Found Days and Longer Than The Road first. Sam Beckett is in a band with Pear Wentz, Lissa Urie and Kit Walker. Mary Beth and Eddie Saporta are twins. A couple of MCR minis show up in this, too. Title is from The Matches’ Wake The Sun.
> 
> [download the soundtrack](http://community.livejournal.com/muse_to_match/9531.html)

**November 2030**

“You’re a giant _jackass_ , Pear Wentz,” Lissa yells, hands on her hips.

Sam shifts uncomfortably on the dressing room couch. She doesn’t really like it when Lissa and Pear fight, although she’s not sure this qualifies as a fight, since Pear’s unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin.

Kit ducks down behind Pear, laughing, and Sam is sure that’s going to suck for him later on, since Lissa has a temper and pointy shoes to match.

Pear just says, “It’ll be awesome,” and it really looks like she believes that. Believes that having Five Days join the tour will be motherfucking awesome instead of a huge shitting disaster.

Lissa stomps a foot and Sam’s eyes widen.

Huge shitting disaster, this is totally Sam’s prediction.

*

Kit and Lissa are practically married, even though they’ve only being officially dating for three months. It’s completely depressing.

Sam calls her mom but gets her dad instead, and her dad never understands that she doesn’t actually want to talk to him. She loves him and all, but she doesn’t think he really _gets_ her.

She doesn’t say much of anything and tries to muster some enthusiasm for his, “excellent and incredibly delicious homemade-from-scratch lasagna, Samantha, just wait until you taste it,” but then he says, “You’re quiet, love-bug,” and, “Is this about Mab?” and maybe her dad’s a whole lot more insightful than she gives him credit for.

She bites her lip. If it was Mom, she’d say yes, because this is very much about Mary Beth, but she’s not sure she wants to get into a serious conversation about her love life with her dad. Not that her dad would ever be capable of having a serious conversation about her love life. When he’d attempted to give her the birds and bees speech – which had been so not needed, oh god – he’d cited examples from his own collection of scene memorabilia, and Sam really hadn’t needed to see that picture of Uncle Gabe eating chocolate out of her dad’s belly button, no sir. There’s a reason why she avoids google.

“Sam?” he prods.

“I’m fine, Dad,” she says finally. “Just a little tired.”

*

Very rarely does Lissa hate anyone - she gets that quality from her dad, Sam’s sure – but Lissa has almost always hated Anthony Way. This whole touring with Five Days is going to be fucking ace.

“Anthony,” Lissa says, scowling, arms folded over her chest. Kit has a hand curled over her shoulder, but he’s got a friendly grin for Anthony, since Anthony really is a great guy. He’s sort of exactly like his mom, since his dad’s an introverted weirdo. Sam has no idea what Lissa’s problem with him is, only that it’d started when Lissa was sixteen and sullen and Anthony was seventeen and handsy, and they’d spent that whole summer together at music camp.

Pear whoops and leaps onto Anthony’s back, legs wrapping around his waist, arms nearly strangling him. “Tony,” she crows, then places a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, Wentz,” Anthony says, hooking his hands around her thighs to keep her from falling. Pear and Anthony have this thing where they make out, but date other people. Sam doesn’t even pretend to understand it.

Lissa growls under her breath.

*

Sam texts Mary Beth, _5 days ishere_

Mary Beth sends back ten minutes later, _im booking our flights now_

 _our?_ Sam asks, wrinkling her nose. She really hopes she doesn’t bring Jerome.

 _im watching eddie_

Sam smiles. The Saporta twins on tour. Cool.

*

Two-fourths of Five Days are Anthony and Digger Iero, and the other two-fourths are these chicks that scare the crap out of Sam. They’re pretty hot, but Sam has nightmares about them tearing out her heart and feasting on her soul. She thinks it’s all the dark makeup and leather.

Darby gives her sharp grins and licks her lips.

Sara fingers her throat and watches her with half-lidded eyes and Sam’s human. She can’t help but think about a threesome and how maybe the inevitable bloodshed after would be worth it – they’re totally the sort of girls who kill after mating, like praying mantises, only sexy.

Pear jostles her arm. “You’re having the praying mantis fantasy again, right?”

Sam really regrets telling Pear anything ever.

*

Eddie shows up in a purple bathrobe and sunglasses, ratty duffle hooked over his shoulder.

Mary Beth looks sleek in designer jeans and a black scoop-neck sweater. Sam’s heartbeat speeds up, she can feel the throb all the way down to her fingertips, and her throat’s so dry it clicks when she tries to swallow.

Being in love with your best friend sucks so hard.

*

“So,” Anthony says, dropping down next to Sam on the couch. “Lissa and Kit.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“Well. Well, shit,” Anthony says, shaking his head slowly, and suddenly everything clicks and Sam says, “Dude, you _like_ her?”

Anthony shrugs. “Whatever.”

Sam is now even more curious than ever about their mysterious music camp summer. “Huh,” she says, slumping down into the cushions. She absently taps out the rhythm for Carriage House Dawn on her leg.

Anthony pokes her in the arm. “You and Mab, though,” he says, grinning at her, and Sam chokes on a yelp and pinches his thigh, because what the _fuck_.

“Shut _up_ ,” Sam hisses.

He just grins wider. Asshole.

*

Sam isn’t obvious. She _so_ isn’t obvious, Anthony can go fuck himself.

“You’re brooding, Samantha,” Mary Beth says. She smoothes a thumb in between Sam’s eyes, over the bridge of her nose.

“No, I’m not,” she says, gaze lowered, tugging at the hem of her skirt. She doesn’t know why she bothers. Mary Beth never notices, and she’s never _going_ to notice, because Mary Beth isn’t interested in sexy girl legs. Not for the first time, Sam wishes she’d been born a boy.

“Samantha,” Mary Beth says sternly, “look at me.”

Mary Beth and Eddie look almost nothing alike, even though they both ended up with their dad’s nose and their mom’s height. Eddie leans more towards the Asher side of the family, soft face and soft smile, and Mary Beth looks like her dad – high cheekbones, full mouth, and dark eyes that can slice right through your soul. Sam thinks she’s amazing.

Mary Beth narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Sam fights the urge to tell her everything – she’s pretty sure spilling her guts here would be the biggest mistake of her life. “Nothing,” she says, “just worried about Pear,” which isn’t a total lie, at least, because she always spends a good portion of her days worried about Pear. Pear’s more sensitive then she ever lets on.

Mary Beth doesn’t look like she really believes her, but she doesn’t press.

Sam takes deep, shaky breaths after Mary Beth walks away.

*

“What about Pear?” Sam asks Anthony, because it’s been bugging her. This thing Anthony has for Lissa, even though Pear and Anthony still have that weird never-exclusive arrangement going on.

“What about her?” He looks blank for a moment, and Sam stares at him meaningfully until he quirks his lips up and says, “Oh, hey, Pear’s not. Pear’s not a forever type of girl, you know?”

Sam frowns. She does not, in fact, know. Sam thinks maybe Lissa has the right idea about Anthony.

*

Sam finds Pear on the Damage Eaters’ bus, curled up in the back lounge. Lyle gives Sam a helpless shrug from his sprawl on the floor.

Pear’s weird when she’s upset. Sam knows she doesn’t want to talk, so she settles down next to her and waits until Pear shifts wordlessly closer, tucking herself up against Sam’s side, head resting on her shoulder. She blows out a heavy breath.

Sam reaches over and threads their fingers together.

Sam may be skinny, but she’s got some mean upper-body strength – she really wants to beat the shit out of Anthony.

*

Eddie and Mary Beth rent a car and follow the tour as best they can across Missouri, Kansas and Colorado. They miss the first two stops because Eddie gets distracted by a giant ball of twine, and the fifth and sixth stops because Mary Beth likes to be able to shower on a regular basis.

At the seventh venue in, after the reverb fades on Timestamp, Kit says into his mike, “So maybe I’ve been in love with Lissa Urie here since I was eight,” and the crowd goes _crazy_.

Lissa pushes sweaty bangs off her forehead and shoots Kit a look that Sam just barely catches. It makes Sam’s belly clench. She tightens her fingers around her sticks. There’s a roaring in her ears that may or may not be the entire venue cheering, so Sam doesn’t hear exactly what Kit says next, but afterwards—afterwards, Kit and Lissa seem to be fucking _engaged_ , and Sam’s happy for them, she is, but Mary Beth is leaving in another week or so and the creepy Five Days girls want to eat her and her life pretty much sucks.

Pear is extra bouncy in the dressing room, hanging all over Kit, bright-eyed and manic-smiled. Sam thinks maybe Pear thinks her life sucks, too.

*

“You guys are gonna have a kick-ass wedding,” Pear says, jumping over the back of the couch to settle in next to Lissa.

“Sure, if we’re Scarlett and Rhett,” Lissa mutters, but her lips are twitching up at the corners, because it’s been physically impossible for her to stop smiling the past couple days.

Sam’s hovering in the doorway, and Mary Beth sneaks up behind her, wraps an arm around her waist, hooking her chin onto her shoulder.

“She looks happy,” Mary Beth says into her ear, soft and low. “Must be nice.”

Sam shivers. “Yeah,” she says. “Must be.”

*

Sam and Pear lock themselves into their motel room and steadily work their way through half a bottle of Absolut and Sam doesn’t remember much the next morning, but she remembers kissing – she remembers hands in inappropriate places.

She wakes up with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that isn’t just the sour aftertaste of a night spent binge drinking. But Pear’s lying next to her, staring, and when their eyes catch she smiles – a real, gentle smile. And then she _cracks up_.

Sam lets a giggle slip out, too.

Her head hurts and her mouth’s dry, tongue like sandpaper, but Pear and her – they’re okay.

“Let’s never do that again,” Pear says, burying her face into Sam’s armpit.

Sam cups the back of her head. “Deal.”

*

“I,” Eddie says, dropping an arm across Sam’s shoulders, “am taking you out to breakfast.”

Sam arches an eyebrow. “You don’t have any money.” Eddie does not actually do anything. He lives in his parents’ basement and plays online games with Pear’s younger brother, Jace.

Eddie holds up a credit card, waggles the thin piece of plastic platinum. “Okay, so technically Mab’s treating us to breakfast.”

Eddie’s the master at mooching. Sam hooks her arm through his, though, and says, “Lead the way.”

*

Eddie’s a slob and talks with his mouth full, the complete opposite of Mary Beth, who never has a hair out of place and never smudges her makeup and eats at fancy restaurants in LA that Sam can’t even properly pronounce. Sam has no idea why the hell she couldn’t have fallen in love with Eddie instead.

He’s more her style.

Sam pops the top button of her khakis and rests a palm over her tummy and groans. She ate way too many waffles.

Eddie has crumbs all over his chin and his eyes are glazed in what Sam thinks is a maple syrup coma.

Sam nudges his cup of coffee closer to his hand, and his fingers automatically curl around it. It’s black, the way they both like it, and it seems to snap him out of his sugar haze a little.

He blinks at her. “So,” he says, then pauses with a fist to his chest to belch.

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Mab and Jerome broke up,” he says.

Sam’s mouth tightens. The pure joy she feels over that tidbit is neatly eclipsed by the fact that Eddie feels like she has a stake in Mary Beth’s relationships. “That’s—um.” She’s not exactly sure what to say here.

Eddie leans forward, elbows on the table. “Mab and Jerome broke up three months ago,” he says.

Sam isn’t sure what he’s getting at. “And?”

“And Mab didn’t _tell_ you, right? You’re her best friend and she didn’t tell you and don’t you think that’s weird?” He says it all nonchalantly, but Sam can tell there’s something that she’s missing.

Mary Beth breaks up with guys all the time. It’s not like she calls Sam after every date she has or whatever. Thank god.

Eddie spreads his hands, eyes comically wide. “Just saying. You guys should think about, you know, maybe actually _talking_ to each other once in a while.”

*

Digger Iero is a little punk ass and Sam likes him a lot. They talk about their drums and his uncle Bob and Sam very carefully doesn’t say how much she hates Anthony now, because they’re family, and Sam knows how that works.

Sam takes a swig of her beer and points a finger at Digger. “Your girls scare me,” she says.

Digger giggles. “I know,” he says. “It’s awesome.”

They’re wedged into the back of the Five Days van with four six packs of the most foul beer they could find, because Sam thinks it’s Natty Light and Digger thinks it’s Red Dog and Sam and Digger are both kind of stubborn. Sam is so sure she’s gonna throw up before the night is done. Digger might have a point about the Red Dog.

Digger giggles some more, and then the door of the van slides open and Darby sticks her head in with her scary bright blue fauxhawk and kohl-rimmed eyes and Sam tries to make herself as small as possible, which isn’t very small at all, considering Sam’s a giant freak of nature.

“You,” Darby says to Sam, “tonight,” and then she disappears again and Sam can feel her eyes get huge because tonight _what_?

“Oh my god. Oh my god, she’s gonna _cook_ and _eat me_ ,” Sam says, horrified, and Digger buries his head in his hands and laughs.

*

When Sam steps off the stage, slick with sweat, muscles of her arms and upper back aching in this really awesome way, Mary Beth and Darby are glaring at each other from opposite sides of the hallway. Darby’s clutching the neck of her guitar like she wants to split it over Mary Beth’s head. Mary Beth looks coolly amused, collected, but her eyes are razor sharp and her right hand is curled into a fist, so tight Sam can see her knuckles whiten.

“Um.”

Darby spots her and still looks mad as hell. She pushes past Sam on her way down to the dressing rooms, hitting her shoulder so hard Sam stumbles sideways.

Mary Beth gives her a tight smile, but Sam doesn’t think she’s upset with _her_.

“What the hell was that about?” Sam asks, bewildered.

Mary Beth visibly relaxes, grin growing. “Just had to get a few things straight.” She reaches out and tugs on a shank of hair that’s slipped out of Sam’s braid.

Sam’s got freaking _butterflies_ in her stomach, and she swallows hard. “Yeah?” she says, and it comes out half-broken and her cheeks heat and she squeezes her drumsticks to keep her hands from shaking.

And then Sam’s suddenly thirteen years old again – gangly and too-tall, stick-thin and big-nosed and totally enamored with perfect little Leslie Jameson, who was always so damn _sweet_ to her, even though she was dating the biggest prick in their year.

Mary Beth’s just being nice. Sam knows how that goes.

She rubs the back of her neck, underneath the limp rope of damp hair. “I, uh. I need to clean up,” she says, then follows after Darby down the hall.

*

Darby tastes like rootbeer and ash and the fingers biting into Sam’s wrists hurt in a not-so-good way.

Darby murmurs, “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that,” against her mouth and it feels all wrong wrong wrong.

Sam has no idea what the fuck she’s doing.

Her eyes start itching, like she’s gonna fucking bawl any second now, and she rips away from Darby, blinking rapidly.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t—this is—I’m.” She can’t even fucking spit it out. She’s a pathetic _asshole_.

Darby’s lips twist, more resigned than mean. She pats Sam’s cheek, though, maybe a little too hard. “Your loss,” she says.

*

Just outside Colorado Springs, Pear kicks Anthony in the balls and Anthony’s fist seems to reflexively lash out to punch her in the boob before he drops to the ground and throws up all over himself.

Sam’s pretty sure they would’ve ended up in an all-out band against band brawl if Duncan wasn’t holding Lissa back and if Darby had been anywhere in the vicinity.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, cupping a hand over his groin and wincing in sympathy.

Pear’s crying, but she’s not making any sounds. Sam really hopes they’re just tears of pain. A boob punch is nothing to sneeze at.

Kit looks every bit his eighteen years, eyes huge as he watches Anthony roll all over the asphalt, groaning, and Sam wonders what the hell Kit and Lissa are _doing_ – marriage? Are they freaking insane?

*

“I know,” Lissa says later, quietly, the hum of the road under their feet, Kit and Pear and Duncan asleep in the back.

“You know,” Sam echoes. She shoots her an arch look, and Lissa shrugs, smiling.

“We’re thinking years, Sam. It’s just. There’s never going to be anyone else, right, so why not let everyone know it?”

Sam thinks there’re lots of reasons why not; nothing’s ever certain. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers clenching and unclenching rhythmically on the steering wheel. Finally, she says, “Okay.”

Lissa grins at her, brilliant. “Yeah?”

Sam huffs. “Like you need my _permission_ , Liss. You’re way older than me, anyhow.”

Lissa punches her in the arm, but she’s laughing.

*

Eddie grabs hold of Sam’s hand as soon they finish their set, weaving in between Metro Station techs as he pulls her past backstage and into the maze of corridors at the back of the venue. He doesn’t say anything, just silently pulls her down the halls and pushes her into the dressing room they’re sharing with Damage Eaters.

Casper and Lyle barely look up from their chess game.

Mary Beth is sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, a magazine lying idly across her lap.

“So you’re doing this,” Eddie says, finally releasing Sam.

Mary Beth purses her lips. “Edward.”

“Mary Beth,” Eddie says. He sounds serious and stern, which is a total stretch for him. Eddie’s never really serious about anything.

Sam’s really confused. “What’s going on?”

Eddie turns to her. “You’re doing this.”

“Doing _what_?” Sam asks, getting exasperated.

Mary Beth sighs, methodically sets her magazine aside and gets to her feet. She adjusts the hem of her skirt and smoothes her hair behind her ears, then arches one thin eyebrow at Sam before gliding towards her, hips swaying. She says, “This,” right before she frames Sam’s face with her hands and kisses her.

*

Sam is a sweaty mess and Mary Beth’s palms are cool and dry against the curve of her jaw.

Sam opens her mouth under Mary Beth’s and maybe groans a little. She reaches out, clenches Mary Beth’s shirt in tight fists on either side of her waist, knuckles grazing bare skin.

When Mary Beth lets her go, she’s smiling like a contented cat, smug. She swipes a thumb over Sam’s lower lip. “Hello, Samantha,” she says, voice just this side of husky.

Sam’s entire body is tingling. She breathes out, “Hi,” because her mind is fucking _blank_. Wiped clean.

And then she thinks _fuck it_ , because she may be a self-conscious mess half the time, but she _is_ William Beckett’s daughter. She totally has game.

The wolf-whistle when she hauls Mary Beth up against her again and slides damp hands under the back of Mary Beth’s shirt sounds disturbingly like Eddie, but Sam tries not to think about it too hard.

Instead, she bites down on Mary Beth’s lip and grins at the sound she makes, soft and surprised and mind-numbingly hot.

Sam’s got good Beckett genes. She plans on using all of them.

*

Pear and Anthony make up and make out.

Sam doesn’t really get it.

Pear snuggles up to Sam in the back of the van and says, “I’m in love.”

Sam gives her the hairy eye. “Are you kidding me? You kicked him in the balls.”

“ _True_ love,” Pear says, and sighs happily.

“Are you still icing your boob?”

Pear gives her a vicious poke in the side, sharp nail digging through the thin material of her worn t-shirt. “Shut the fuck up and be happy for me.”

Sam shifts, wraps an arm around Pear’s shoulders, dragging her even closer, and says, “Okay.”

*

“Travel Parcheesi!” Lissa shouts, climbing into the van. “I traded Kit to Mason for it.”

“Excellent.” Pear makes grabby hands for the package.

“How long ‘til the next venue?”

“Zack says five hours,” Lissa says. She settles down in the middle seat on her knees and leans onto the back, chin in her hands.

“Not it,” Pear says, pressing a finger to her nose.

Sam follows and then Lissa and they all turn towards Duncan, slumped low in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash and a hardback book open on his lap.

“Duncan,” Pear singsongs.

“What?” He twists around to look at them, gaze darting to their noses before groaning. “I hate you. I drove the last stretch!”

“Law of the road,” Pear says, forefinger still pressing her nose nearly flat. She crosses her eyes a little.

They take the law of the road very seriously. Plus, it’s fun to upset Duncan. His ears and throat get blotchy red and he flaps his hands a lot. And then he totally gives in, because he loves them.

“Seriously,” Duncan says, dropping his book into the footwell and sliding over into the driver’s seat. “I hate you all so much.”

Pear makes kissy faces at him as she rips into the tiny box, pulling out the magnetic Parcheesi board. She sets it up on her lap so Lissa has to hang all the way over the seatback to play.

Ten minutes later, they’re behind Metro Station’s bus on the highway, and Duncan tunes into an all-Christmas-music radio station because he may love them, but he has no qualms about torturing them. Cruel, cruel mental torture, especially since Lissa can’t help singing along to every single song. It’s kind of fantastic.

Her life is so fucking _surreal_ sometimes.

“Hey,” Pear flicks her temple. “Your turn, doofus.”

Sam rolls her eyes and reaches out for the spinner.


End file.
